Give Me the Meltdown
by Wulfeh
Summary: Prompt from Queakenstein: Piccolo has to apologize to Chichi after losing an argument. Another typical humorous PiccoChi story from yours truly. One-shot; complete. Tell me what you want, child. Gimme the meltdown, take it out on me don't let me down. Oh no it ain't over now, I can feel the world spinning round and round and round.


_Prompt from my darling Queakenstein: Piccolo loses an argument to Chichi and needs to apologize!_

_Sorry about the long wait with all of my writings… There's a better explanation at the end of this… So read!_

"_Give Me the Meltdown" (Rob Thomas)_

* * *

"This is ridiculous, it's not my fault!" He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at the tigress before him, baring his fangs right back at her. "It's _not_!" Piccolo repeated, tightening his core and planting his feet more firmly into the kitchen floor.

The little woman, planted between him and escape, narrowed her eyes further, and her lips pursed into a thin line. _Damn bitch was goading him! Wasn't she?_ Standing there, black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, strands sticking out and falling down and around her flushed face, hazel eyes flickering with compressed fury, Chichi was the perfect picture of a nightmare. It was stupid. Completely stupid. She was wrong. He was right. It was that simple. This entire conversation would not even be happening if Chichi was not so _damn_ obstinate. Why did she always have to be right all of the time? Especially since she was so _obviously_ wrong.

"Well?"

"Well _what_?" he was unable to keep the snap out of his voice as he elongated his spine as much as possible without actually changing his size. It accentuated the already extreme difference in their heights. Chichi barely came up to his chest normally. Her eyes, against all physical limitations, narrowed even further, becoming nothing more than fiery slits slashed across her face as she tilted her head back to compensate for his move. His stomach sank, but he refused to back down.

"Well, I'm _waiting_."

His brows knitted together. _Waiting_? For an _apology_? Oh no, she was absolutely not getting an apology. Not this time.

"I still don't see what you're so upset about. He wants to fight."

"He's a _baby_!"

"He's older than Gohan was when I first started training him."

Chichi's eyes flashed with an emotion he did not have time to register before her face turned to stone, eyes hard.

"Sleep. Outside." He detected a definite wobble in her voice. His ears pinned against his head, opening his mouth to say something, _anything_, but she turned away.

"Chichi -"

"I SAID _SLEEP_ _OUTSIDE_." She did not turn around to face him, rather keeping her back rigid and shoulders tight, shielding her facial expression from his gaze. "This discussion is _over_. Goten does _not_ start training a day before his seventh birthday."

"Chi –"

"_THAT IS __**FINAL**_." Her hand gripped onto the doorjamb dividing the kitchen from the living room. Cracks rippled up the molding from her shaking fingers. His antennae flicked, registering her _ki_. It was not quite at maximum, but close. It was impressive for someone who only trained occasionally. Sometimes he forgot just how much power the little woman held in her body.

Piccolo's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. There was no talking to her when she was worked up like this. He gritted his fangs, and brushed passed her to the door. His ears twitched as he could have sworn he heard her muffle a sharp intake of breath, as if she were holding back tears. Piccolo pointedly refused to look at her. If he saw her face, about to break, he would cave, and relent.

Instead, he did as she said.

And went outside.

At first, he contemplated taking off, going to the waterfall, the desert, anywhere, but a weight in his stomach prevented him from gathering the necessary _ki_. He growled quietly and sat himself down underneath a tree in the front yard, facing away from the house.

"_Idiot_. She's completely ridiculous. I can't _believe_ her." Piccolo muttered continually to himself, snarling a few of the words out. He was too irritated to even meditate, too distracted by the fight in the kitchen to clear his thoughts of the events prior...

_"Pa-pa! Pa-pa, I want to learn how to fight today! You will teach me, won't you?"_

_He blinked, and looked down his nose at the child tugging at his pant leg. He could not help but allow his lips to twitch up in a small smile. Whereas Gohan was an almost perfect mix of both his parents – leaning more on the side of his mother if anything – his younger brother was all Goku. Well, except the eyes. He had his mother's eyes, although she never could see it. _

_"I..._suppose_... We could start working today." Piccolo said quietly, crouching down to the child's level. "I think you're big enough."_

_Goten's eyes widened exponentially, his chubby cheeks squishing his eyes shut. The six year old leapt at him, throwing his arms around Piccolo's neck. He had quite the grip for such a little tyke…_

He growled quietly, wiggling around and leaning against the rough bark of the tree. Piccolo cursed quietly opening his eyes and glaring viciously at the view. Trees…the road…the mountains… Damn them all. Usually it was relaxing.

Chill autumn wind plucked at his clothes. Of late, he had taken to wearing lighter clothing, at least in the house. The cape and shoulder pads were cumbersome, and it was much easier to _not_ make a mess than to clean one up before Chichi found out. Of course, he had been spending a great amount of time indoors. No longer used to brushing off the elements, he shivered then swore again, more loudly. Hopefully the sound had not carried back to the house.

"Give her one more dammed thing to scream about," Piccolo muttered, hunching his shoulders and digging his elbows into his stomach. He pouted – there was simply no other name for the expression crinkling the skin around his mouth – as his softer side began to bring up unwelcome memories…

"_He isn't a fighter like you!"_

"_You know what he's thinking? Do you want to know what's going through his head right now? He's thinking 'Father cares more about a fair, manly fight than he does about my life!'"_

"_It doesn't matter how much power he has, Gohan is a scared, hurt, eleven year old boy!"_

Piccolo winced, remembering how, after that particular battle – a war, really – he had never again wanted to see Gohan with so much as a scraped knee, let alone new battle scars. His ears pinned. It had taken him long enough to want the Kid even sparring again after Cell.

_Of course_ Chichi wanted to keep Goten safe and at home. O_f course _she pushed against anything related to martial arts. She had lost her first husband to the damn thing – _twice _– and nearly lost her eldest son on several occasions. Sure, she had allowed Gohan to pick the sport back up, but was for just that reason, _sport_. He was ready for a threat, prepared for anything, but content with peace. And Piccolo knew that it was not just his mother's wishes that kept the boy from seeking out opponents beyond himself and Vegeta.

"_Dammit_."

Piccolo pushed himself up off the ground, using his hands on his knees as a lever. He stood for moment, feeling the threat of winter in the air. He was reasonably certain that he would be able to haggle for the couch. Well, not _haggle_. Piccolo would certainly never ask to have a punishment lessened, but if Chichi were to offer… The Namekian shook his head and headed back to the house.

Cautiously, he opened the door, poking his head around the doorjamb, ready to duck back outside if the tigress of a mother was guarding the door and armed with old silverware. _Like last time_.

Chichi was nowhere in sight. He opened the door further and slipped inside, closing it silently behind him. Her energy signal was coming from the bedroom. His stomach twisted itself painfully. That meant she was crying.

Now he just had to get there and fix this whole situation before –

"_Pa-pa_?"

Piccolo barely had time to switch his tongue over to Namekian. If Goten let slip any naughty words, it would be his fault. Although he supposed that he _could_ blame it on Trunks and Vegeta.

"Yeah?" It came out harsher than he had intended, and Goten flinched backwards, dark eyes watery. _Why was his number one talent an ability to make people cry?_ Piccolo knelt, and held out his arms to Goten. The child's face opened up, recognizing and taking full advantage of the rare and unexpected gesture, and dove into those waiting arms.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, "I didn't mean to make you and Mommy fight."

"That wasn't your fault, Goten."

"But if I hadn't – "

"_Hush_," Piccolo said, scooping the boy up and carrying him to his room. "Everything's fine," he ducked under the doorway and deposited Goten on his bed. "Now read a book, I have to go and talk to your mom."

"You do know that if just gave in and accepted that a woman is always right, none of this would have happened, don't you?" Gohan's voice came from the windowsill, where the lanky teenager sat enjoying a massive novel in the crisp light filtering through the closed window.

"If I did that, then you wouldn't be reading whatever monstrosity you have in your hands right now. It would be a text book, or in the least a biography."

Gohan looked up from his book, grinning.

"Just saying."

"Yeah, yeah." Piccolo handed Goten what Chichi referred to as a "level-three reader" and ruffled the child's wild hair. "I'll be back in a bit. Probably."

Gohan laughed from the window, turning a page.

"If it takes longer than thirty minutes, I'll send for a senzu bean."

Only the wide-eyed expression of picture-perfect horror on Goten's innocent face kept him from replying with "better make it the Dragon Balls." Instead, he exited the room and headed down the hall to the master bedroom.

Piccolo's ears pricked as he listened for any sounds that would give him a clue as to how the woman would react to his entrance. He could hear her, probably on the bed from the rustling fabric sounds, and… _Yeah, crying_. Face in the pillow like she always did in a pitiful attempt to hide her tears. He tried the door. It was locked. He frowned. Well, it never hurt to knock… Piccolo tapped his knuckles gently against the door, just above the knob. No answer, but there was a sharp intake of breath, and all movement on the other side of the door ceased. He knocked again.

"Chichi," he said, voice soft, but strong enough to carry through the door. "May I come in?"

"I _told_ you to sleep _**outside**_."

"Chichi, I'd like to talk to you." He leaned against the doorframe, facing the solid object. "Just…just open the door."

"Give me _one_ good reason."

Piccolo gritted his teeth, scrunching his eyes shut. He remained silent for a long moment, pondering his next words.

"Because I am an obstinate, belligerent, _ass_."

There was silence from the other side. Piccolo let out an exasperated breath, remaining still. His ear and temple pressed against the wooden door were beginning to protest the pressure he was so unfairly placing on them. Ignoring the discomfort and remaining where he was, he waited for her response.

The door swung open so suddenly that he did not have time to rebalance himself, and nearly toppled over as the support was swiftly yanked from his upper body. His incredibly honed reflexes, however, were not so easily thrown off kilter, and he caught himself, digging his fingers into the doorjamb and praying that it would hold.

It did.

Chichi stared up at him, eyes red-rimmed and face puffy. Fresh salt lines glistened on her cheeks, and her lips, slightly bruised from biting back sobs, were fixed in fierce scowl. It could easily rival his own famous mask.

"_What do_ _you_ _want_?"

"To talk," he said again, not moving, still hanging off of the doorframe. He felt entirely vulnerable, lacking any semblance of true balance or his usual grace. But, he supposed that it was better that way. Chichi might be more willing to compromise if she sensed that she was in better control than her mate.

She did not move other than to let go of the door, crossing her arms under her breasts instead and drumming her fingers on her prominent bicep. "May I come in?" he repeated. Chichi's puffy pink eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded, and stepped back, away from the doorway. He sensed that he would be doing most of the talking. "I'm going to shut the door," she raised an eyebrow and nodded. It clicked shut. Piccolo walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on it, bringing himself down to a level just below her height.

"Don't even think about telling me I'm wrong, overly-controlling or –"

"I won't," Piccolo cut her off gently, "you have every right to be against Goten learning to fight," he spoke quietly, keeping soft eyes on her still flushed face. "I may not agree with you, but that does not give me the right to be an ass about it." He watched her carefully, searching for some sign that she would forgive him. Her shoulders had relaxed, that was a good thing, at least. She was still staring him down as if she was a tigress and he was nothing more than some small mammal she had decided to kill, but there was also a forced harshness in her eyes. It was a look with which he was quite familiar. She knew. "I was wrong…earlier…to speak and act the way I did." Piccolo shifted uncomfortably. He doubted that he would ever feel comfortable talking to anyone on this level, this intimate, soul-bearing level. Even with Gohan it felt dangerous. But this was necessary. She _had_ to see that he felt badly for his earlier harshness. It had not been his rational side talking. It had been that stubborn streak of his, that side of him that was immensely helpful in battle, _and yet so incredibly harmful_ in his personal life. Chichi still showed no signs of speaking again. The scowl had loosened slightly, her face, still streaked with tears that she had not bothered to wipe away, looked more relaxed. "Chichi…" He stopped. Blinked. Started over. "I know…" Piccolo pinned his ears, biting his tongue and cutting off his speech as the picture of a little boy, dark haired, wide eyed, and terrified, clawed its way up out of the depths of his memoires.

_Gohan, an innocent child, thrown into a world for which he was neither prepared nor suited, had grown up far too quickly altogether. At six, he had already survived the Saiyans, and was fighting nightmare creatures too terrifying for dear little Goten to even picture. He had not even hit thirteen when he became a Super Saiyan, and battled against and defeated the greatest calamity to hit the earth in modern times. Gohan had never had a childhood. It had been villains, violence, death, and gore, since age four and a half. Goten, at six, had already enjoyed a more stable and peaceful youth. And here he was, trying grow up. To be like his brother, his father, and a man that had no business trying to act like one_.

Piccolo swallowed, and realized that his gaze had dropped from Chichi's face to his tightly clenched fingers, shakily gripping the fabric of his pants. He looked back up, meeting her gaze. Chichi's face had softened considerably. Lips curved slightly upward, brows tilted smoothly to the sky, and a gentle, empathetic wrinkle creasing her forehead. She could read it, then, his apology, his willingness to keep the boys out of harm's way to the best of his ability. It was lacking, and they all knew it. Gohan could swat him aside as easily any human bats away an irritating insect…but that had little affect on his willingness to throw his own life away protecting them. _All three of them._

"I suppose I may have flown off the handle a little bit," she murmured, eyes shimmering with new tears. "You were only showing him form and working on a balanced position." She sat down next to him, but not quite close enough to touch.

"Should have asked you first," Piccolo replied gruffly, staring at the wall. Photographs hung in easy view of the bed. The kids, the gang, holidays, Goku, himself…

Chichi shifted closer to him, reaching for the hand still wrinkling pants fabric. She took it in her hands and held it on her lap.

"_Maybe_," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "but I should have discussed Goten's training with you before this. I've ignored it, and tried to put it from my mind."

He said nothing.

"Piccolo?"

"_Hmm_?"

Chichi squeezed his hand gently, scooting closer – it was easy, she practically slid down into his side, her hips bumping against his – and looping his arm around her shoulders.

"_I_… Do you _promise_ to take it slow?"

He furrowed his brow and looked down at her upturned face, searching for an answer to an obvious, but unspoken, question. "If I let Goten start training now, rather than waiting until his next birthday, do you promise to go _slow_, just teaching basics? No free sparring until he's _at least_ nine?"

"Niii – " The Namekian bit down harshly on his tongue, cutting off the protest. Chichi was compromising. He needed to do the same. "I… I'll go slow."

"_Extra_ slow?"

His antennae twitched, and he frowned.

"I can only go as slowly as he learns," Piccolo replied, "and I don't want him getting bored, and trying to learn from Vegeta – or _worse_, Trunks."

Chichi leaned against him, damp cheek against his chest.

"That would be bad." Her voice was hoarse from her earlier tears.

"Very bad," Piccolo agreed, keeping his arm draped casually around her shoulders. His hand gently rubbed her arm, shoulder to elbow and back again. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, comfortable with the arrangement. Piccolo watched her out of his peripheral vision, contemplating his current situation. Goten could start training, that was good. Slow was fine, he could work with slow – Kami knows that the boy was nowhere near as quick a learner as his brother – but she still was not happy with the situation. She was too easy to read. Chichi's eyes were half closed, face relaxed, but troubled still. Fresh tears threatened to rewet the semi-dried salt lines that stood out on her cheeks. Yes, she was wonderful, yes, she was controlling, yes, the woman was completely and utterly insane… How on earth could he make her happier with the idea of Goten training…? _Ahhh…_

His lips pulled back in a smirk as a brilliant idea struck him. This was why he was the strategist of the Z-Fighters. Mischievously, he pulled her closer, right up onto his lap, something he rarely did, and kissed her cheek. "Why don't you train Goten _with_ me?" He murmured huskily in her ear, "then you can keep everything the way you want it," Piccolo shifted the now blushing woman in his lap so that she faced him, "and we get to spend some time together," she was holding back a giggle at this point as he nibbled at her jaw.

"You are an _ass_," Chichi sniffed, but her arms had slipped around his neck. His lips caressed her still salty cheeks, tasting her tears and washing them away with each gentle kiss, ignoring her mouth completely. "I can't _believe_ you," she whispered, trying to kiss him but only getting air as he moved to her neck.

"Well?" Piccolo murmured, pausing only to give her a chance to speak.

"Well _what_?" Chichi took his face in her hands and pulled him back up to meet her eyes. "Do I want to train Goten with you?"

"_Hmm_, that's the last question I asked you, isn't it?" he smirked, bumping his nose against hers. She smiled and pulled him in, but did not kiss him. He cocked a brow, narrowing his eyes questioningly as she rocked her face closer to his, gently bumping her forehead against his.

"I suppose we could work that out," Chichi murmured, thumbs caressing his prominent cheekbones with soft fingertips. She tilted her head to the side and pressed her lips against his. Piccolo closed his eyes, more than a little relieved that he had managed to get back on his wife's good side. "You know," she said softly, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer to him, burying her face in his neck, "I appreciate that you apologized. I know it's hard for you to do that." Piccolo played with her hair, and made no sound. "I mean it," Chichi repeated, pulling back to meet his soft, dark gaze. "I really appreciate it."

"Hn," he gave as an answer. Chichi smiled softly at him and kissed him on the cheek.

"You don't have to say anything else, Tiger," she said quietly, "I know you well enough to read your face at this point." His eyes widened slightly, not so much in disbelief or surprise as it was simply in affirmation of her statement.

"We'll start training Goten tomorrow, then."

She shoved him, hard enough to knock a mere human backwards. He could have resisted the pressure and remained upright, but allowed her to push him down into the mattress. "I'll take that as a '_yes_,' then?" he smirked up at her, lips pulling back enough to reveal fangs. He placed his hands on her hips.

"You're an _ass_," Chichi glowered down at him from her perch on his chest, but he could see the amusement glimmering in her expressive eyes. "But… I…" Her eyes widened as his smirk evolved into something reminiscent of his younger, wilder self. "Don't you _**dare**_ – _oh_!"

Piccolo twisted, pinning her against the bed, supporting himself with his elbows and forearms. He grinned wolfishly, enjoying the flustered and irritated expression on the dark haired woman's flushed face. "_You have __**exactly**__ three_ –"

"Hey I was just checking on the situ – _Oh._ I'm…so sorry."

Chichi's face turned bright red, even as Piccolo felt all the mirth physically drain from his body.

"_Dammit, Gohan_, _**GET. OUT.**__"_

* * *

_They are in the middle of an apology, my dear boy. You could at least knock… _

_Thanks for reading! And Matchmaker's twelfth chapter is in the works… I just started college and I have been extremely busy trying to figure out my schedule… and fighting writer's block… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet! "Give Me the Meltdown."_

_I'll see y'all again in Match12, "Take Somebody Home."_

_~ShireWulf_


End file.
